The Ivory Blacksmith
by Mr. Gutgebiet
Summary: America has never been able to feel music, let alone play it. However, after an awkward change of heart and new found interest, he forces Austria to teach him how to play the piano. Austria, displeased with the situation, finally agrees, but America notices something a bit strange. Austria is hiding something; something deep. And America makes it his mission to find out what.
1. Just Can't Feel It

**Wiktor:** Grüß Gott, and thank you for choosing to read this fanfiction. Your support is highly appreciated. A few notes before we begin, and a few things I would like to mention as a sort of warning to the possible younger audience reading this. This is for persons 18+. Now, I can't keep you from reading this if you're under age; it is not like I can show up at your doorstep and give you a slap of the glove. Just don't blame me if your parents find out you've been all over the naughty side of FanFiction. This piece includes mention/action on the following: Adult themes, sexual themes, eating/mental disorders, language, mild smoking, and mild drinking. Please keep these in mind while reading, and please review if you read. Danke.

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><p>"Man, it's really cold outside!" America whined, tucking his chin into the lining of his jacket. "I mean, I guess it's nice to have the whole U.N. here for Christmas, but we could have gone down South for once!"<p>

Fiji, who trailed not far behind shivered and kicked the snow from her brown ankle boots. "I don't really mind coming here." She pointed out. "Of course, it could be warmer, but the landscape is beautiful and the food is always divine." She smiled and moved a bit quicker, falling in step with America. "Right?"

"Yeah, whatever." America pouted, crossing his arms over his chest. "All this ever is, is an opportunity for Austria to show off how 'great' he is at everything and steal everyone's thunder all night."

Fiji giggled and shook her head. "I don't think I've ever seen you this unenthusiastic. Usually you're bouncing around like a chipmunk."

"Well, aren't I right?" America shrugged and took a deep breath. Maybe it wouldn't be _too_ dreadful. "I guess it might not be all that bad this year. There's always good chocolate."

"Oh, the chocolate is fantastic! I think Austria's chefs make it themselves." Fiji grinned, toying with the button on America's sleeve before glancing to the side at the string of diplomatic cars parked in the massive lot, each adorned with its country's flag.

She pointed over. "It looks like Iran has made himself present this year." She chuckled, nearly slipping. "That's surprising."

America looked over and raised an eyebrow at the Iranian flag waving gently in the chilly breeze. "Geez, you're right. Shit. Well, if he's here I might as well ask him about the Nuclear Deal. He's asked for another extension and I wanna find out what's going on."

Fiji frowned and forced her arm into the crook of America's arm as they walked to keep from slipping on the frozen pavement. "Don't do that! This is a celebration that we were graciously invited to. Don't ruin it with this talk of politics." She giggled, playfully batting him in the shoulder with her free hand.

America brushed her hand away, uncomfortable with the amount of physical contact she was showing him. He thought a moment, then finally gave a small smile. "I could just be super nice to him all night long. Damn, that would make him want to start a fight!" He laughed at his growing plan. "This is gonna be too good. There's nothing he can do to me if I'm nice to him first."

Fiji blinked. That wasn't really what she meant, but alright. "I-If you want."

A sudden weight on America's shoulder made him tense up and yelp. He spun on his heel, nearly knocking Fiji off of her feet in the process before cocking back his fist to throw a punch at his assailant. Much to his surprise, a very amused France stood, cunning smile pasted into his pale features, directly behind him. Two other men, both dressed nicely in crisp uniforms, followed close behind him, prepared to strike back in the event that America actually threw his fist.

France chuckled and reached up, tenderly grabbing America by the wrist and lowering his hand gradually to his side. "It has been a while, yes?" He began, slinging an arm over his friend's shoulder. "It seems the War still has you on edge. Even after all these years?"

America took a deep breath and continued his walk. "Yeah, maybe a little bit." He said, shrugging off the surprise with a smile. It had been a little over a year since he had last seen France, and he had begun to miss his annoying romantic tips.

Fiji flew forward. "Oh come on now! We're all on medication for some war somewhere." She reassured. "By the way, France you look very nice with men on your arm like that." She teased, referring to his staunch faced bodyguards. "America's and mine are already inside mingling with the others."

"Ah, yes. They are new to my council." He grinned, looking her over and admiring the little pop of purple dress peeking out from under her long coat. "I thought I would break them in by letting them see how countries really behave at parties. And by the look of it, Austria has really gone out of his way to make this lavish." He pointed up ahead at Austria's magnificent walkway.

Immediately, any remaining trace of displeasure in America's mind was flushed away by his natural childlike virtuousness and wonder. He felt a growing exhilaration as they approached the truly extravagant home of their U.N. counterpart. France was definitely correct; the sheer amount of work that Austria had ordered on the outside of the colossal mansion was awe-inspiring. The grey stone looked as if it had been freshly laid and washed that morning and had a certain crispness to it, reflecting the cordial orange light pouring from the abundant picture windows dotting the side. Each wintergreen shrub had been trimmed by an expert hand, down to the last twig, and the bed had been thoroughly weeded down to the last blade of grass. Two woman, each brunette and wrapped in elegant, black, beaded evening-wear stood at the door, greeting the long string of guests with trays full of champagne glasses. America immediately scanned the crowed and excitedly picked out everyone he used to hang out with. Russia was the most noticeable, mainly for his two tall sisters, one on each arm, clutching daintily at the crooks of his elbows. A few places back stood Israel and his dazzlingly gorgeous wife directly in front of England and the whore of a redhead he decided to bring along as some semblance of a date. Germany stood in rigid conversation with Switzerland and his younger sister, Liechtenstein, most likely about trade negotiations and the standard political banter. There was no sign of China yet, but that was to be expected. The man's timing wasn't the best, but he always showed up before he was considered to be tardy.

The three made their way to the back of the unexpectedly quick moving line. France took up casual conversation with Botswana, who had joined them, complaining that the starting snowfall had caused him to contract a cold. Finally, when the group had reached the front, each nodded thanks to the servers and took a champagne glass, stepping inside before they were all halted in the doorway.

Their host, Austria, greeted them formally with a small nod, raising a hand to smooth the front of his deep chocolate outer coat. "Good evening." He gave a small smile when he noticed the formality of America's dress. "It pleases me to see that you have decided to dress nice this year. It is not as white-tie as I would have liked, but it is a start."

America narrowed his eyes. "Hey! What's that supposed to mean? I looked just fine last year." He retorted to the snobbish comment.

Austria blinked at the comment. "Oh, I'd hardly think so. Business casual to a dinner party is laughable." With that he turned and shook the hand of Fiji who grinned up at him. "You look lovely tonight Ms. Vesikula. And you," He turned to France, who warmly extended a hand as well, "Mr. Bonnefoy."

America put out a hand, a bit too unenthusiastically, receiving the same amount of reluctance from Austria. "Mr. Jones." Was all he said before urging the group on and continuing to greet the rest of his guests.

"What the hell is his problem with me?" America asked, helping Fiji out of her coat and hanging it aside on the coat rack.

Fiji shrugged and turned. "You two are just polar opposites is all. He isn't all _that_ bad." She glanced up and flashed him a small smile. "I'm going to go and find Cameroon. If you want," she added harmoniously, "we could meet up later after all of this."

America smiled back and nodded. "Sure, we could go get some coffee in the morning or something."

France shook his head as the two watched Fiji sashay away into the crowd of mingling countries and advisers. "Oh, mon ami. I don't think you get it." He sighed with a half-chuckle.

America took a sip of champagne. "What do you mean? I'm sorta glad that we're friends now. We've never really talked much before, but she caught up with me outside and she's pretty nice." He grinned.

France waved off his comment. "Yes, yes, we all know. But, she's," he thought a moment, trying to figure out how to explain the situation properly, "devouring you with those gorgeous dark eyes of hers."

America seemed a bit taken aback and took a moment to reflect on Fiji's behavior. True, she was definitely touchy-feely, and they had never really talked much, but that didn't necessarily mean that she was after him in such a way.

Finally, he spoke once more. "Oh, come on. How do you know?" He still didn't seem convinced.

"Do you really have to ask?" France countered, raising an eyebrow. "She likes tall men with ridiculous accents. That should be the clue you need."

America wasn't sure if he should feel complimented or offended by such a remark. "Well, why don't you go after her then? Your accent is so damn thick no one can understand you half the time." He laughed.

France gasped, clearly insulted. "Women _love_ my accent! How dare you say such a thing to a country of my caliber!" He stomped lightly on the ground.

America tried not to double over in amusement. "Dude, don't get all butt hurt about it. You have to admit that it's true." He joked. "Anyway, if you really want her, take her. I'm not interested."

France placed a hand on his shoulder and leaned forward as if he was concerned. "How could you not be interested? Those full hips, toned thighs, and dark skin would be enough to make any man melt! You must be ill!" He gasped dramatically.

America glanced to the side. "Nah, I'm fine. I'm just not into it, yah know? At least you _should_ know." He prompted.

France cocked his head, perplexed, before a look of understanding flooded his features. "Ah! Yes. I remember."

"Duh." America laughed, taking another sip. France, with the exception of maybe Denmark and Germany, was the only one who really did understand, and it was strange how he had found out such a profound secret.

A couple of years back, at a different congregation, Denmark and France thought it would be more than hilarious to make America a ludicrous bet. The game was, America would receive five hundred dollars for forcing a wet kiss on Germany for at least six seconds. It didn't matter where in the building it had to be done, or who saw for that matter, it just had to be done at the gathering that night. And, if America couldn't do it, he had to give up five hundred from his own wallet. Seeing how utterly impossible it would be for America to hold Germany down for six seconds, Denmark and France thought for sure that they would be splitting the cash. But no. They had underestimated America's confidence in his strength and determination, and the level bizarre level of anticipation he had taken away from the situation. Sure enough, that night, Denmark and France had collectively lost five hundred dollars and Germany had lost all trust for America after being forcefully grabbed by the collar and pulled into a much unwanted kiss. When questioned later by an infuriated France, America admitted that he truly didn't mind kissing a man. He never specified anything past that, just that he merely preferred men over women.

France nodded. "Do you still want to hop into his bed?" He mumbled slyly under his breath.

America swallowed and turned, gazing past the glistening glass-topped coffee table of the sitting room to where Germany sat, still engaged in conversation with Switzerland, legs crossed professionally to the side. He smiled a bit when Germany looked up, making eye contact with and icy 'don't-try-anything' glare. America could care less about the meaning behind it; any opportunity to steal a glimpse of that blue nearly made his glasses fog.

"I dunno…" He mumbled in delayed response to France's question. "I'm getting over it. Sure, he's attractive and all," he whispered, making sure no one else was eavesdropping, "but it would never happen. I have to be realistic."

France shrugged and finished off his drink. "Well, I'm sure you'll find someone." He smiled. "They pop up in unexpected places; a friend, a colleague, sometimes love can even override hate." He explained. "That one person that you despise most in the world over everyone else…Sometimes hate is the only spark you need to long romantic nights."

America laughed. "Pfft! Don't get all sappy on me, man! I'll probably just go out and try and find a human girl to marry like everyone else and-"

He was cut off with a delicate clap from the host. Austria cleared his throat over the clamor and silently waited for everything to simmer down before speaking. He drew his hand towards the striking polished wood of the dining room door.

"If my guests would please follow me. My servers have set the table, but please wait to sit until instructed."

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><p>Dinner was as quiet as it was every year. A few mummers, a comment on the decor or two, but overall no business talk. Austria wouldn't allow for it at the table. He believed it to belong solely to the office, as the dinner table was more for entertainment and comfort. Some more anti-social countries loved the lack of conversation but, for America, he felt as though he would lose his mind in the silence. He had a literal need to voice his opinion, sometimes forcefully, whenever he saw fit and not being able to do so was boring him to death. Finally, someone further down the table broke the silence, but he couldn't tell who it was. It sounded like Cyprus but there was no way America would have been able to tell.<p>

"Austria, we've been asking you for years now, why don't you play for us?" The mystery person asked eagerly. Everyone nodded in concurrence. Austria's playing was quite lovely, many of them had heard, though many of them hadn't been graced with the opportunity to listen...or had never paid attention when he actually had.

Austria froze, eggshell china at his lips, before taking a deep breath and slowly lowering it to its rightful place atop its saucer. He seemed a bit nervous to the trained eye, but overall hid it fairly well. "Play what, Spain?" He asked simply.

Spain? That's who that was? America should have known. The guy hounded Austria every year to play the piano for some reason that probably dated back to their marriage. The whole situation between the two was disturbing; no one could really tell if they still liked or completely loathed one another. Hell, it may even be both.

"The piano!" Spain piped up cheerily. "You're very good, and now would be the best time to play with everyone here, yes?"

Austria was flattered but didn't know what to say in the same breath. He opened his mouth to make an objection, but fell silent when he noticed his entire entourage watching him, forcing him to give a tiny nod of approval. "What do you want me to play?" He responded quietly.

"Why don't you improvise?"

This time, America immediately recognized the voice for the fake proper air to it. It was obviously England.

Austria thought about the request, attempting to find a way to weasel out of it. Finally, after a few long moments of staring down at his lap, he pushed back from the table, draping the napkin from his lap over his empty dish and motioning for the servers leaning against the wall to begin their clean up.

"I will be frank; I have not improvised for quite some time. But, if you all insist, I can arrange something."

Ugh. America couldn't get into music either. Everyone else around him knew how to read sheet music, and play some instrument of the sort, but he had never really learned. He was a drummer boy during the Revolutionary War, as he was initially considered too young to fight, but he never had to read a sheet. He just couldn't relate or feel the sound like the others. Plus, he had been hoping that after eating, he and his advisers could go back to their hotel and ring room service for some ice-cream. Oh, well. If there was nothing he could do to stop it, a little bit more time wouldn't kill him.

It had been a while since America had seen the others so excited. They flooded around Austria, who had once again stolen the spotlight as expected, as he led them back into the sitting room, whispering to a servant the entire time. America shoved his way to the front of the group, inquisitiveness returning at Austria's fragile movements and still seemingly blank expression. He watched him intensely as he sat, positioning himself delicately atop the cloth covered bench of his deep ebony grand piano, the glossy surface shimmering in the candlelight with eerily quixotic warmth. Then suddenly, as Austria put his fingertips to the ivory, America's entire perception changed, catching him off guard and freezing him in his shoes. He had heard others play the piano numerous times but this…this was different. He felt his breathing slow, but at the same time his heart accelerate and pound in his chest, causing him to choke on what he thought to be sentiment. This wasn't just a sound. It was an expression. An infuriated, yet poignant expression and, as much as America didn't want to admit it, he could somehow relate, though he wasn't quite sure how. But how a person with such an overall vacant expression and dry social life could put such profound emotion into something as simple as a note, he couldn't quite wrap his head around. He blinked slowly and noticed something that Austria had greatly been trying to hide, turning his face from the crowd every now and then as a makeshift veil. He was…crying? Why? What could he possibly have to cry about? An extravagant life, beautiful country, and adoring citizens seemed enough to make any person happy. But still, there was no mistaking it; no matter how uncharacteristic for the aristocrat it was, he was definitely crying. And by the looks of it, others in the room where too, both men and women. It was almost awe-inspiring, the power that music had over others to bring them to their knees and draw out their raw emotion, their love, and their memories. Just…to have that level of control over others was something America craved. As long as it was used to help and not hinder, he was all for something as magnificent as this. Shoot, he would go as far as to call it a superpower.

Finally, Austria broke America from his trance by quickly wiping his face before anyone noticed and standing to applause. America inhaled, regaining his bearings before grinning widely and joining the others. He never thought music would have swayed him as much as this, but now, he craved it as much as he craved a good meal. If only he could play like that! Then all at once, an idea dawned on him. He looked back to Austria, who hastily gathered the sheet music from the floor that had spilled upon his standing. This was probably one of the worst ideas he had in a while, and this was going to be difficult, but the possibility of being able to play that way, with such emotion, was all he could think about. But, he couldn't let anyone else see him talking with Austria; he would just have to wait until everyone else left for their hotels. Man, this was going to be interesting.

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><p><span><strong>Wiktor:<strong> Well, I hope you at least got some enjoyment from the introduction. Those are always fairly long with my writing, but I promise that things will definitely start to pick up. Please review if you read, and I highly appreciate your sticking to the end of the chapter. Danke!


	2. Aren't You Cold?

**Wiktor:** Grüß Gott. Thanks to our anonymous reviewer, The Night Actor for their kind review. And I agree with you. I recently got into this pairing, with the help of my roommate, and once I tried to find a good fanfiction, I just couldn't find all that much so I decided to write what I was looking for. I will most likely write more after this as well. I never thought in my life that I would be pairing my country with the United States, however, but somehow it works. Anyways, please review if you read, and danke schön!

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><p>As the night ticked on, and minutes melted into long hours, one by one vivid headlights flashed in the windows as the lot outside progressively emptied. Final farewells were said in a mish-mosh of languages and dialects, coats were retrieved and thick yawns exchanged. America had kept his promise and struck up a repulsively compassionate conversation with an especially aggravated Iran, provoking him to the point where he had to pull his hands behind his back and grind his teeth in a painstakingly misleading smirk. But that too wound down to an eventual end with hurried, and much needed, leave from the young-faced Middle Eastern country.<p>

America grinned in the usual manner, waving an extended farewell with his fingers and receiving a blistering glower before Iran spun on his heel, stepping out into the thickening Viennese flurry, cloak fluttering behind him in the gust. His bodyguards looked America over a final time before following, nearly slamming the front door in their vehemence. Finally, it was quiet, with the exception of the relaxed conversation between England and his girlfriend as they smoked outside on the walkway and the clatter of house maids and men, continuing to clean the platters in the other room.

"Sir?" One of America's advisors mumbled from beside him, giving a fat yawn before popping his fingers indolently. "Unless you have business here, it's getting late."

America nodded. "Go ahead without me." He responded, unsure of what to say next. "I've got to go…" he trailed off and tried to find of an appropriate justification for his not following. What, with all the talk against Austria and jokes about how ridiculous America thought his voice was, he couldn't let his men think he was two-faced. Because he wasn't. Totally wasn't.

"Oh, is this about Ms. Fiji? I saw you two together earlier; cute gal." The other said casually, tucking his arms into the sleeves of his grey woolen coat and struggling to button it down the front.

Praise the heavens; it wasn't often that America got fitting material in uncomfortable situations like this, especially material that he could play off of so well. He smiled to himself; this was much more easy than he had thought it would be.

"Yeah, duh! Who else would it be? She wanted to talk to me in private about something. You know how women are." He chuckled, acting natural. "Go ahead and warm up the car. I don't wanna freeze my ass off when I get out there."

The two advisers exchanged an apprehensive glimpse before turning and heading out on their own, hands buried deep in their pockets.

"Take your time, Sir. Our flight doesn't leave until tomorrow afternoon."

Pleased with his performance, America nodded. He was absolutely sure that his advisers probably suspected something, as they were trained to look for signs of dishonesty, but he honestly didn't care at the moment. He couldn't bring himself to. He was far too tired and far too resolute with his decision to deal with reservations and superfluous prodding at such an hour. At least now, he could accomplish, with any luck, what he had set his mind to.

Further down the lengthy corridor, a maid slowly slunk out of the large kitchen door, a silver tea tray balanced dexterously in her dainty palm and a petite, white porcelain cup in the other. She hummed slowly and mumbled something in German under her breath as she nearly dropped the tray, staring fixedly at the floor as she walked hurriedly along.

America lit up at the thought that he hadn't been completely abandoned by the occupants of the home. "Ah, excuse me?" He called noisily. "Do you speak any English?"

The girl looked up and stopped, cocking her head and leaning forward a bit. She narrowed her eyes as if puzzled, blinking several times. "Guten Abend? (Good evening?)" She stated as if it were a question.

"Yes? Hello!" America flashed her a kind smile, moving to where she stood and placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Do you know where Austria is?" He responded, eagerness growing once again.

The poor maid blinked once more and glanced to the side, running through the question and mouthing his words to herself before peeking back up. Suddenly and without warning, she appeared almost appalled and shook her head in total displeasure, pushing past him and continuing across the polished hardwood floor.

America was just as puzzled; she obviously didn't know English, or at least not much. She must have misinterpreted his motives. "Hey! Wait!" he shouted, running after her.

Once again the maid stopped and spun around, a pouty scowl on her face. "Verschwinde! (Get lost!)" She demanded, visibly perturbed.

America held his hands up in defense at her snappy attitude. "Would you just listen to me? Hang on." He thought a moment. "S-Sprechen Sie Englisch? (D-Do you speak English?)" He asked, hesitant. It had been years since he had needed to speak German of any level and, as many modern Germanic citizens spoke English, there was never a need for him to. Figures he may have gotten the only one in the manor who probably didn't.

A look of understanding finally graced the maid's pastel face. She grinned, but shook her head. "Nein (No.)." She replied plainly, but with such interest, America thought she may pop at the fact that they could now communicate a bit.

Well, at least they had reached some semblance of an agreement. But now he had to pull more words from his brain, and he wasn't sure how long he could keep up this precision. "Um," he began, "Ich bin Amerikaner. (I am American.)" He started, watching for her nod of authorization and continuing when she complied. "Ich…(I…)" Shit! He couldn't remember how to ask for someone. He bounced on his heels a moment and rocked on the balls of his feet, trying to jog his memory, but the words refused to come.

"Ja…?(Yes…?)" She encouraged, flipping her long blonde ponytail and waiting for him to come up with an appropriate answer.

After a few more seconds, America gave up. "Österreich. (Austria.)" He gave up and blurted out with as best pronunciation as he could. There was no way to misinterpret _that_ for anything else. She did work for the guy, after all.

After a few moments, the maid gave a small nod of acquiesce and a crafty half smile, showing that America had gotten his point across, though not as effectively as he wished. He was rustier in the language than he should have been.

"Kommen Sie mit. (Come with me.)" She chuckled formally, motioning for him to follow with a turn of the head.

She walked promptly, silvery dish and all, and led her guest to the right, through the host room where she shouted out strident and demanding orders to the other maids, who had slumped, exhausted from the night's endeavors, into the cushioned seats. America felt sorry for them as he heard them groan, pulling themselves up to retrieve their cleaning equipment and resume their chores. However, one of the men bounded forward, grabbing America's guide by the shoulder. He regained his breath, talking quickly and frantically and motioning over and over with his hands to in a wild display of fanaticism.

"What's wrong? Can I help?" America asked, always willing to lend a hand.

Thank goodness, the man knew English. He nodded worriedly, snatching the tray from the blonde maid's hands and thrusting it into America's.

"Please!" He begged, grabbing the cup and setting it atop the tray with a tiny clink. "Don't spill the pot." He instructed intensely.

America blinked, taken aback by the sudden escalation of events. "Whoa, dude, I didn't mean-"

The man hushed him and pointed to the closed door on the far side of the room. "Go! We are already behind! A worker has dropped a platter and cut herself, and we need Johanna to help us." He began to push Johanna on, who rolled her eyes in annoyance.

"Oh shit, if she's bleeding I could go get something." America offered, stepping forward to follow.

The man halted him with an open hand. "I'm not worried about the worker!" He shook his head. "I'm worried about the platter she broke! We need to find all of the pieces before Herr Edelstein comes to check. Please," he pleaded again, "take that to his office now."

Johanna pushed the frantic worker off of her arm, nearly knocking his thin rimmed glasses from his crooked nose, before rushing off in a fit, everyone cowering behind in her shadow. America swallowed, clutching resolutely to the tiny handles of the tray as he heard her bark from the lobby, then noticed the sound of a young woman sobbing uncontrollably at the furious words. Damn, this Johanna was as accusatory as nails being driven into timber. America turned his back to the tumult and shrugged, silently moving across the plush carpet. She would have been magnificent in the military; it was a shame she was wasting that kind of influence in a paltry cleaning trade. But what could he say? She was definitely effective, and Austria was lucky to have her.

When America reached the rustic door he placing the loaded carefully atop his fingers, balancing a moment, before turning the worn knob and letting himself in without so much as a knock. The darkness of the room was unforeseen, but equally soothing, a lone lamp left to the back corner to cast an inviting yellow glow. There was a large oak desk, stained dark to blend into the shadows of the petite room. Surprisingly, it was as disorderly and disheveled as America's own study; suffocating under a sea of papers and pens, a stray cup or two, and assorted meaningless keepsakes. Austria's personal bookshelf was thoroughly remarkable; stretching from the floorboards to the ceiling and crammed full of German novels, handwritten texts, and various philosophies from around the world. However, there was no sign of Austria himself, oddly enough.

_Damn it!_ America grumbled to himself, peeking over the top of the desk. _Where the hell is he?  
><em>  
>A sudden chill forced a shiver down his spine, spinning him around and landing him to face the opposite wall. He frowned at the sight. A bulky glass door leading to an outside balcony had been left cracked, allowing a thin layer of frost to crust against the frigid panes. A slow but crisp wind drifted in, compelling America to follow its fresh earthy scent. He took a deep breath and pulled the door open, careful not to cause an audible creek, before poking his head out into the night. Finally, he had found who he was looking for. Austria sat alone with his coat draped over the back of his seat, occasionally brushing a bit of snow from his collar as it descended from the overcast sky, face partially illuminated by the insipid light of the gradually calming streets below. He gave a small sigh when his glasses fogged, slipping them off and carefully cleaning them on his sleeve before returning them to the bridge of his nose, adjusting his hair with his fingers to accommodate them.<p>

America blinked, and cleared his throat. "Aren't you cold out here?" He wondered, causing Austria to jump in his seat.

He turned and stiffed, hastily standing and swiping his coat, drawing it around his shoulders in a single fluid sweep. "What are you doing here?" He snapped dryly, frowning at the sight of the tray. "Where did you get that?"

America gave a false smile. "Lovely to see you too." He sneered sarcastically. He paused before gradually trudging forward to place the tray on the small decorative end table between the two chairs. "A maid gave it to me. I think her name was Johanna." He mumbled in clarification.

"Johanna? Why didn't she bring it here herself?" Austria asked tersely, apparently aware of whom America was talking about.

America helped himself to one of the seats, leaning forward to rest his elbows atop his knees. "I don't know," he lied, not wanting to throw the hysterical servers under the bus. "They were all so busy cleaning up, and I just happened to be here."

Austria refused to sit, crossing his arms delicately over his chest and pursing his lips. "Why _are_ you still here?"

America looked to his shoes and clicked his heels together, trying to appear as apathetic as he possibly could. "Eh, I got hung up talking to England before he left, so I just sorta hung around for a while."

"Well, you have overstayed your welcome." Austria countered shortly.

"Oh, come on! I helped you out and brought your tea. The least you could do is sit and drink it."

For a moment, America thought that Austria was never going to budge from his rigid stance. But, eventually, his shoulders relaxed a bit and he lowered himself, not taking his eyes from America's, into the adjacent seat. He reached forward, flipping the tea cup over on its saucer and taking hold of the porcelain pot, placing a forefinger against the top to hold the round lid in place. America wrinkled his nose at the herby smell as steam curled gracefully up into the winter air. It was nauseating and bitter, something that he couldn't stand to be around.

"How can you drink that?" He coughed.

Austria brought the cup to his lips and took a sip. "More questions, when you have not answered mine? I asked why you are still here." He restated, ignoring America's comment.

America rolled his eyes and began to think. He glanced down at the pavement below and noticed a lone couple walking, the woman hanging over the man like a cat clinging to warmth. They appeared to be laughing and joking with one another, before disappearing from view behind what looked to be a pharmacy. Finally, America inhaled deeply and turned in his seat, leaning back.

"I'm here because I need to ask you a question."

Austria blinked and took another sip. "Oh? Anything about the European Union has been solved."

America shook his head and wrung his hands, feeling his nerves creep back into his stomach. "That's not it." He felt his jaw tighten and nearly lock, but willed himself to relax. "Um, earlier when Spain asked you to play the, um, piano," he started, fidgeting in his spot.

"What about it?"

"I was wondering how you did that thing."

"Thing? What thing?"

"The thing where you made everyone cry with your music." America looked to the side. "I've never liked classical music at all, but it just felt different this time. It was," he hesitated, not wanting to give Austria the satisfaction of a compliment. "It was sort of beautiful."

Austria gently set the cup aside and frowned. "It was beautiful?" He mirrored, skeptical about what he was hearing. "I am surprised that someone like you could enjoy it."

"Well someone like me _did_ enjoy it." America retorted. "But only a little!" He added quickly, wanting to keep his wits about him.

Austria nodded leisurely. "If that's all that you want to say, then thank you. I am glad that you enjoyed my performance." He stood to leave, taking the tray, but America stopped him, standing as well.

"I was wondering if you would teach me how to do that." He blurted out, feeling his face grow hot with the tinge of red. He wasn't sure why this was embarrassing him so much, but it was. "Everyone else can read sheet music, and I never learned how. I want to be able to make people feel that way, too." This time he didn't mask his sincerity.

Austria slumped a bit, obviously not interested. "It is the holiday, and these are busy times." He stated simply. "I'm sure you will understand."

Shit. America could feel his opportunity slipping away from him. He needed to think quickly. "What if I pay you?" He suggested hastily. "Strait from my pocket." He thought a moment. "Two hundred a day until after Christmas." He bargained.

This caught Austria's attention as he began to reconsider. "You want to learn how to play the piano that badly?" He prompted, still a bit skeptical of America's true motives. "You don't have another teacher?"

When it was said aloud, America felt like an idiot. It sounded bizarre and atypical of his habitually lighthearted persona, and the subtle tonal differences in Austria's voice made America want to fight him. Still, he had to keep a pleasant air about him.

"I think so." America nodded in agreement, shivering again. "And...I don't really know anyone else who can play like that. It was really neat how you made everyone's emotions come out, and I wanna learn how." He reaffirmed his purpose, careful to not sound too overbearing. "I could even exchange currency and pay you in Euros if you want."

Austria was torn between agreement and disagreement. It was a fair offer, being paid every day for two weeks _and_ in his own currency of all things. That would be all the time he would need to teach America basic music literacy, but extremely basic at that. He wasn't sure if it would be entirely worth it for the other country to try. Still, this was an offer that no one could refuse.

"I want you here tomorrow, early." Austria instructed, turning his nose up slightly in an attempt to keep his regal air. He couldn't let America think that he had won, because he hadn't. That nuisance should just be happy that he had agreed.

America grinned. "Really? Awesome!" He shouted excitedly. "I'll tell my men that they need to cancel our flight back home."

"No, they still need to leave. I do not want them running through my manor." Austria replied, moving back inside.

America followed, confused. "Wait, am I staying here?" He pointed to the floor. He had a hotel set up not far from here, there wasn't much reason for him to stay.

"That is what you wanted, yes?" Austria asked, sifting through his the papers of his desk to accommodate the tray before sitting.

America was taken aback. "I guess." He replied gradually with a nod. "I will get all my stuff and be here early."

"Good, now please take your leave." Austria brushed him off with the flick of his wrist, diving directly into what appeared to be some sort of financial trouble.

America stuffed his hands in his pockets, trying to stifle a smile to little avail. "Cool. Well, goodnight then."

When Austria said nothing, America let himself out, closing the door with a tiny click behind him. He slumped back against the wood for a moment to collect his thoughts, before adjusting his jacket and heading for the front. He couldn't deny his excitement, but working with someone just as bombastic as himself was going to be a real trip, and he wasn't quite sure how he would manage yet. America grinned to himself again. Why worry? Austria had agreed, with some prompting and promise of an empty wallet, and that was all that mattered. Who knows, maybe the two would even become friends? America nearly laughed at the thought. This was more like a business meeting than a social experiment. Being friends would never happen; he had a more likely chance of economic collapse than that. Yeah…not in a million years.

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><p><span><strong>Wiktor:<strong> Hope you enjoyed! Please review if you read, and danke.


	3. The Wrong Bach

**Wiktor:** I just got the _Illicitly_ remix of Trumpets by Jason Derulo on CD and I am so happy. That is one of my favorite songs; it is so fun and oddly inspirational. Now I can listen on my CD player whenever I want, instead of having to wait for it to come onto the radio. I am ridiculous sometimes. *laughs* Heads up! This will be a long chapter, so I hope you enjoy.

**This chapter was edited. I apologize for my English mistakes, but I have caught them and fixed them.

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><p><span><strong>-To my reviewer friends:<strong>Thank you all for your continued support. **Bea**; I will have to check out that pairing. I have honestly never heard of it, and it sounds interesting. If I can come up with a few ideas I may write for it as well. **XiangXu**; Some Germans are weird like that. I don't really switch to English unless I am asked to, but a lot have this weird "obligation" they feel to switch to English, which I find funny sometimes. I usually only switch for my roommate, a foreign exchange student from the United States who is learning German. **The Night Actor**; I'm glad you're still enjoying my piece. I will try to update quickly, as I work around my job as a tour guide and violinist in the local orchestra and the hours can be long and tiring. Crack ships are definitely the best; if you couldn't tell by now, I adore them all. **Everyone;** Thank you for your kind words; they are appreciated more than you know. I hope you enjoy this next chapter, and please continue to post reviews. Danke.

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><p>The previous night had left America's advisors in a fit of anger. Both felt equally betrayed that their boss would have lied to them about his motives, and initially refused transport back across the city. Of course, their hotel wasn't far from America's destination, but their pride and trust had been stolen away. However, with some begging and promise of an extended Christmas leave, America was able to convince them to finally drive him and his luggage back to Austria's home.<p>

"Why does he want you here so early?" The driver asked, squinting through the snow. "The roads haven't been cleared yet."

America shrugged and wiped the condensation from the back window, watching the sidewalks gradually fill with early morning workers, bundled against the cold and out to make their grudging morning commute. Street performers with brooms swept their claimed corners, pushing hefty piles of snow out into the street to make way for their various music and entertainment pieces. A young girl and her brother danced a bouncy duet for a small group of wandering tourists out for an early breakfast as an elderly man sung out a boisterous Austrian folk song, all the while playing away on a long since worn violin. America smiled when the tourists clapped excitedly and threw change for the children, who linked arms and bowed, scooping up the money and presented it blissfully to the older gentleman, who must have been their grandfather. There were troves of business men with cases and black polished shoes, taking care to avoid ice patches and running through their work schedules to themselves, as couples ventured hand in hand to small cafes dotting the block. The Austrian public seemed so kind and jovial, once you got past their initial criticism of practically everything. Once he thought about it, they weren't all that different from America's own population.

"So, what exactly will you be doing here for two weeks?" The driver asked, reaching down and taking a sip of coffee from his mug.

"Adam, I told you last night, it's political business." America explained in hope that he would stop pestering him with questions.

"Political business? What kind of business do you have? You never mentioned any of this before."

"Shut up, David." America turned to the passenger seat where his friend sat.

David shook his head and gave a small half smile. "You're pitiful, you know that?" He kidded. "If you want to hang out with Austria, all you have to do is say so."

"Yeah, Jones." Adam chimed in, joining the light onslaught.

America narrowed his eyes. "Come on, guys! You know that's not what it is!" He snapped. It was just like the two of them to push his buttons, and his buttons were tremendously difficult to find. Still, with Adam and David in the car, they always found a way to shoot through America's fun loving suit of armor.

Adam chuckled and rounded the block. "We're just messing with you. But in all seriousness, why _are_ you staying?" He questioned, authenticity returning to his tone.

America paused. He had to tell them why; it's not like he could make up another anecdote at this point. Adam and David were prepared for his fakery after finding out he had lied about Fiji, and would see right through any masquerade he put on no matter how effectual or faultless it was. After some contemplation, he spoke.

"You can't laugh." America warned, jabbing a finger at both of them. "Promise?"

The two exchanged a look of mystification, before nodding. David turned around in his seat to listen, while Adam continued to watch the slick streets, occasionally glancing back at America from the front mirror, a look of wonder on his face.

Reassured, America began. "Ok, last night I really, really, liked Austria's song on the piano. He's awesome at improvising and I really want to learn how to read sheet music so I can play that well too." He clarified, once again wiping the fogged window clean with the sleeve of his flannel jacket. "I offered to pay him if he taught me, and then he just invited me to stay at his house, which was a little weird. I'm sorta glad though. I'm paying him all the money I have left with me after renting out our hotel room, so there's no way that I would have been able to stay there without calling in for a new balance-"

A stifled laugh cut him off and he frowned, furrowing his brow as David threw a hand over his mouth, body wracked with intense hilarity and whole body straining to double over the seatbelt fastening him in place.

"Oh my God!" He hooted. "You're staying for _that_? Shit man, Jones has gone soft on us! What? You're gonna go marry Beethoven? Be sure to bring a signer*!" (*person who knows sign language).

America felt his face smolder in a deadly mix of pure humiliation and fury. "I told you not to laugh! And don't you dare say anything to anyone else!" He growled.

From the driver's seat, Adam took deep trembling breaths and kept his mouth clamped shut. Tears of laughter formed at the corners of his eyes as he reached up and wiped them away with his gloves, staining the faux leather in small dark patches. When he could no longer hold it, he pulled to the curb and exploded in a fit, smacking at the steering wheel with his open palm as he howled in accord with David. The two were being completely insensitive, spouting out inarticulate syllables to one another and flailing around the front as though they were primary school children hearing a naughty joke for the first time.

"You know what? Forget you guys!" America mumbled, unbuckling his seatbelt when Adam pulled the car around the front of Austria's home. "I don't even care what you think." He fibbed, grabbing for his two suitcases and throwing the door open.

David swallowed and willed himself to calm. "Oh, come on, Jones." He groaned and rubbed at his collar, still laughing a little but feeling a bit terrible for having joked at his friend's expense. "We didn't mean it like that."

America sighed and shook his head. "Whatever. I'll see you in two weeks." He mumbled once more, stepping out into the growing sunrise.

_This is stupid._ He thought, slogging through the snow, over the curb, and across the long sandstone footpath. _Adam and David are stupid. I bet I'll become the best piano player in the world and they just don't know it yet. I'll totally get more money than they'll ever get for their retirement then. That'll show them._ He pouted to himself, pulling his suitcase up the squat porch step. He coughed in the bitter air and rapped on the door, hearing the car finally pull away.

For a long while, no one met him outside, and his fingers were beginning to chill. America raised a hand and knocked again, this time louder, wondering if anyone was even awake at this hour. Finally, the faint resonance of rubber soles on wood reverberated through the thick door, followed by the sound of hefty latches being unlocked. The door swung open with a soft creak, revealing the same dark headed man from the previous evening; only now he wasn't near as hysterical. He appeared just as fatigued as when America had left him, with dark bags behind his round silver glasses and a surprisingly hollow face for his fairly young age. He didn't smile but instead scrutinized America's expression swiftly, and then moved to his luggage, running his hands over the casing in a security check, before moving back to his original stiff position with a sniff.

"Good morning." He addressed in a monotone accent. "I am Burkhart. I will be assisting you."

America felt as though he were at a restaurant. All that was missing was a bill of fare…and lively service.

"Thanks!" America replied contentedly, grabbing his things and following, stopping to wipe his feet out of civility. "Did you get everything fixed from last night?" He asked, trying to form polite conversation.

Burkhart took America's bags from him, nearly stumbling under the burden of the heavy parcels, before gaining a steady toehold. "Yes, Sir." He responded, catching his breath.

America nodded at Burkhart's minimalism. It was almost refreshing to meet someone who would let him ask whatever he wished without a snobbish disapproving comment tossed in at the end out of spite.

"You don't have to call me Sir." America chuckled, stretching and following the struggling helper as he lead America into places of the profound home he had not yet ventured; he had never been allowed to wander about before. "You can call me Alfred," he suggested, "or America if we want to be formal."

A small beam peaked on Burkhart's pale face. "Yes, Master Alfred." He answered back, reverting to the primness that America had been trying to get him to circumvent.

It wasn't his fault, America had determined, admiring the decor of the newly discovered wing. He was probably groomed to be this way, grammatically correct and with posture as stiff as a board. He stopped, careful not to make a disturbance in the hallway, and examined the array of crimson and white Austrian banners draped from the rafters and staggered with the utmost care and precision. They were absolutely enormous, each one adorning the famed national crest of the rising eagle. Burkhart turned around, noticing America's endeavors and stopped, placing the suitcases to the side.

"Each one was needled by hand." He pointed out, gesturing to the massive banners. "Master takes great pride in funding Austrian made products."

America was astounded. Why hadn't he thought of that? That bastard, China, created many of his goods. Sure, they were all cheap and easy to import, but the debt hanging over his head was enough stress to kill a man.

"They're all so big! How long would it take to make one of these?" He inquired. Maybe he should look into this as an alternative; every United States flag crafted by the hands of an American. A _hot_ American. No, a hot American woman wearing a spangled bikini at the base of the Statue of Liberty. If he was going to be nationalistic about this, he might as well go the whole nine yards.

Burkhart pondered the question. "I'm not sure. These were crafted far before the birth of my generation, so I have never known." He said back.

America nodded slowly, soaking in whatever he could. He turned back to the wood paneling on the wall and noticed the countless portraits, each one hand painted, of Austria and his various leaders, military personnel, and former territories. America could tell that they were far past dated from the choice of attire; formal and tight for both the men and the women, with nearly every inch of skin concealed and awkward brass accents. America caught sight of a particularly interesting piece and noticed that Austria was younger, but wore the same expression as America had always seen him, with a more teen-like arrogance to his mannerisms. The woman resting charmingly in the sophisticated chair next to him, however, America could not distinguish. She was dazzling yet ashen, a minute twinge of pink brushed upon her apple-like cheeks. Her bust had been pushed up a considerable amount by the suffocating royal blue corset cinched tightly around her middle, and her golden hair pulled back in an elaborate set of finger waves and curls. She was quite a striking young woman with a thin smile, dainty fingers resting atop Austria's outstretched hand in a demonstration of stately poise. Though Austria looked virtually unchanged, America noticed that appeared to be in much better health. It might have just been the artist's rendition, but he certainly didn't look as gaunt as he was nowadays.

"Hey, who's this?" America asked out of curiosity, examining the painting further. "Was this one of Austria's wives? I don't remember him ever talking about this one."

Burkhart sighed and shook his head. "Now I realize why Master was irritated with your questioning. It's never ending." He glanced at the portrait, adjusting his glasses with a tiny sniff and short, but conceited, laugh. "Did you ask if Her Grace was his wife?"

America cocked his head. "Sorry, was I wrong?"

"Completely!" Burkhart said breathlessly, moving his hands behind his back. "As a State, I would expect you to have some knowledge of our history before staying with us." He cleared his throat. "This is Maria Theresa. She was the sole female ruler of the House of Habsburg, and the last of Master's to be exact. She was also crowned Holy Roman Empress." He recalled slowly. "She was a brave woman, and Master Edelstein talks highly of her still, though he has often said she never listened to him. She had even lost territory to the Prussian Empire and tried to gain it back through a great war. Of course, she ultimately lost, but still, Master continued to take her hand as though it had never happened."

America thought the name sounded familiar. He honestly didn't know much about Maria Theresa but hey, you learn something new every day.

"Speaking of Austria," he frowned, "I was kinda expecting him to meet me at the door. Not that you're a problem." He added quickly, hoping to not offend Burkhart.

Burkhart clapped his hands together before once again retrieving America's hefty luggage and trudging further down the corridor. "Ah, yes. Please refrain from making noise. Our Master is roomed two doors down from yours, and loves to take part in late mornings." He stopped at America's door, and pointed two doors down in a whisper.

"Wait, what time does he get up?" America raised an eyebrow. "I could have slept in if I knew he was going to!" He wasn't angry about it; at least now he would have some time to explore. He just wasn't sure if Austria had intentionally tried to irritate him, or not.

Burkhart winced and drew a spidery finger to his lips. "Please, be quiet!" He hissed. "Now, this will be your room for your stay. There is a restroom in the neighboring corridor, and a stairwell leading up to Master's private writing quarters at the end of the hallway. Do not go unless invited. If you need me, I will be downstairs preparing to create this morning's shopping list and by all means, feel free to see your way around."

America gave a small smile and a nod of understanding before Burkhart turned briskly on his heel and took off. When America entered his room, he threw his things aside and snooped around a bit. The curtains hung open to reveal the extensive snow-covered commons outside, dotted by a few imported evergreen trees. The bed was of fair size, to which America quickly greeted with a belly flop, soaking in the wonderful scent of freshly made bedding. Besides that, there wasn't much else; just a small silver clock atop a simple end table, and an unfilled chest of drawers huddled in the corner.

America buried his face in the soft velvety comforter. He hadn't realized how high maintenance Austria truly was. Do this, don't do that, and all of these rules from people he had hardly met. He wished there was a complaints box, because America would fill it to the brim. He glanced over at the clock; 8:00 in the morning. He began to wonder how late of a sleeper Austria was. Suddenly, he sat up. No! He was paying Austria to _teach_ him, not to sleep the day away. Of course, he probably wouldn't mind if America woke him up a tiny bit earlier today, or at least he shouldn't anyway. Without thinking of the possible consequences of his actions, America hopped up and half skipped back out into the hallway, making sure that no workers were in sight, before darting out and leaving the door open wide. He was pretty sure this wouldn't be a problem; as a child he would wake England up early all the time and had never gotten in trouble, so this couldn't be all that different.

He stopped at Austria's door, wondering if he should knock or let himself in but, after some internal debate, decided to meet himself in the middle, knocking once then unhurriedly turning the knob. He had no idea how Austria was even still asleep, what with all the clear radiance flooding in through the window panes and the boiling temperature of the room. It hit America in the face like a blast furnace and caused him to nearly collapse to the floor. He would have to endure, America told himself, but this was like his station in Kuwait all over again; only without all of the sand and body armor.

Austria's room wasn't much more elaborate than America's. It hosted the exact same layout in uniform exactitude, only with a few more pictures hung here and there against the neutral walls. Once again, America couldn't recognize many of them, now with the exception of Maria Theresa. He swallowed thickly and held his breath, bending and slipping himself out of his shoes, a little tip he had learned from his brother when the two went creeping around the house as teens, and tiptoed lightly across the floorboards, stopping to hover directly over the edge of the bed. Austria had curled up into a ball and tangled himself in several layers of dense blankets, snoring lightly. America nearly laughed; he looked like a wreck…and it was very entertaining. He had never seen Austria in a state as natural as this and, he was pretty sure, not many others had either. At the thought, America was beginning to second guess his decision of waking him up; Austria would surely murder him knowing he had seen him so informal. Still, America couldn't bring himself to leave just yet. He was far too busy savoring this rare and laughably ridiculous moment. Austria had wrapped himself around a pillow, hugging and clutching at it as though it were a sibling leaving for University, burying his face into the soft fabric as he breathed melodiously. America wasn't sure how to feel about the way he looked like that. It was creepy and unsettling to view his dark hair in such a disheveled fashion, bangs strewn across his insipid face as they were. America blinked and leaned down further, reaching into his back pocket to retrieve his phone. Austria was so flush and appeared as delicate as the china he drank from; America just couldn't resist. He bit his lip to keep from giggling, slowly scrolling through his phone for the camera and, careful to turn of the flash, stepped back a few feet before snapping a picture. This was absolute gold.

_This is way too perfect._ He laughed internally. Who knows? Maybe such a picture would come in handy someday, or just serve as the center of a drunken party. Probably the second one.

America leaped in his socks when Austria mumbled something, rolling over and giving a stretch before drifting back off into his ever deepening slumber. America quickly powered down his phone and shoved it back into his pocket, smiling and leaping back forward, crouching at the edge of the bed.

"Psst!" He whispered. "Austria? I'm ready to play the piano now."

Fully expecting a response and getting none, America tried again, raising a hand at a snail's pace. "Austria?" He hissed, slowly moving in and brushing his hair gently out of his face with the back of his hand before freezing and giving a slow blink. Boy, did he look different without his glasses. He wasn't unrecognizable; just…different. He entered conflict with himself, but America was fairly sure that he meant that in a good way, maybe. This was the first time that he could see Austria's face as clearly as this; the soft definition of his jaw line and cheeks. He was almost, dare he say, sort of sweet. America gave a curt huff and quickly withdrew his palm, letting Austria's hair fall back into place. What was he thinking? Austria was conceited, self absorbed, and bothersome. There was nothing cute about that! Not in the slightest.

Pushing the disturbing thought as far as he could from his mind, he nudged the bed. "Hey, get up. I've been waiting for you to teach me stuff!" He said impatiently, abandoning his effort to remain silent.

At the noise Austria rolled over and stretched sluggishly, slowly opening his eyes and looking America up and down blearily, somewhat bemused to see him standing without shoes in the middle of his bedroom.

"Cool! You're awake." America bounced eagerly. "Come on let's go!" He urged, this time nudging Austria lightly in the shoulder.

Austria frowned and brushed America away with a sharp flick of the wrist, sitting and exhaling before leaning over and resting his forehead in his palms. As far as America could tell, his hunch was right; Austria wasn't all that angry with the fact he had been wandering about, just stuck in a lethargic stupor. He looked up, glancing at the clock before shaking his head.

"You are unbelievable," He mumbled, slightly annoyed, "waking me up at this ungodly hour." He slung his feet over the edge of the bed and yawned, reaching for his glasses from the table and combing his thin fingers through his messy hair. "This is completely uncalled for! I do _not_ want to see you in here every morning! You cannot stay if you are!"

America rolled his eyes. "Come on, it's like eight thirty! What time do you usually get up?"

Austria disregarded him, standing and crossing to the window, admiring the beautiful blanked of untouched snow of the courtyard. "Is it cold?" He asked plainly.

"I guess…" America answered, a bit taken aback. What did that have to do with anything? "Look, if you want to eat breakfast or something, I can unpack and meet you downstairs."

"I choose not to eat breakfast." Austria explained hastily, turning and forming awkward eye contact with the other country, before quickly breaking it and changing the subject. "We can start your lessons after my morning routine."

America nodded, raising no objection. He didn't want to be a poor house guest. "Sure! Anything I can help you get done?"

Almost immediately, Austria nodded. "As a matter of fact, yes. You may help me with my shopping."

America scrunched up his face and made a noise of restlessness. He was hoping to not go out into the city. It was freezing, grey, and the streets had probably not been swept, meaning he was to be trudging along through the snow. "Ugh, that sucks! Isn't there anything more fun that we could do?" He whined.

Austria shot him a fierce look like a teacher catching a student cheating on an exam. "You _are_ staying here, correct?"

"Yes."

"Then you are obligated to help in exchange for my services."

"I'm already paying you enough, though!"

"Would you rather leave?"

America crossed his arms. He knew his inflexible nature would clash with Austria's; he just knew it would. There was no way to get around this either, as long as Austria had a bounty hanging over his head. After all, they both knew that America was staying in Vienna in secret and, if word leaked to the other countries, he would surely get a lot of grief from Europe as a whole. More specifically, his elder brother. That was the last thing he wanted; to throw England fuel to harass him with.

"Okay, okay." He agreed, pausing. "I think your friend was making a list downstairs. At least that's what he told me." He pointed out, referring to Burkhart. "He was pretty chill; helped me with my bags."

Austria smiled a bit and motioned for America to turn around with a finger, making him a bit uncomfortable. "I like to hear that my staff is doing well." He riposted, keeping vigilant watch to make sure America wasn't going to turn back around before removing his night shirt.

"Mhm," was all America could think to say, wringing his fingers edgily and tugging a bit at the cuffs of his long sleeves at the sound of clothing rustling. He wasn't yet used to the fact that Austria did whatever he wanted, when he wanted to do it. Of course, it was his house and he was seldom told 'no' by hardly anyone, but his sheer lack of emotional and physical consideration for others made him a master at making both countries and humans feel ill at ease. America felt the dreadful itch to leave when he heard Austria padding barefoot to his dresser and tugging it open with an abrasive creak. He coughed and took a deep breath, swallowing several times in the silence, desperate to find something else to focus on rather than the fact that his teacher and colleague was most likely naked behind him.

"Um, I found some composers I like." He stumbled, trying to take the gaucheness of the situation out of his stomach.

"Oh? Who might that be?" Austria asked, intrigued.

America cleared his throat, continuing to fiddle with his hands. "I got online and listened to a bunch of stuff last night after everyone else went to bed to get a feel for some of this kind of stuff, and I sorta liked Bach and Schubert."

There was a brief silence. "Which Bach?" Austria finally retorted.

America blinked. Shit, was there more than one? "What do you mean?" He sprung up and jumped a little when Austria strutted around to face him, fully clothed in a well-designed black dress coat. He fiddled with the tiny silver buttons a moment then restated his question, this time in more detail.

"Do you know the difference? There were three composers by the name of Bach. One wrote in the Baroque period and two in the Classical period." He explained in a matter-of-fact tone, as though America should have already known.

America glanced down. Austria was slightly shorter than he was but, then again, once he had his shoes on they would raise him to at least eye level. His short stature was almost derisory, however, making it sort of hard for America to fully take him seriously.

"I didn't know there were three." He responded with a small smirk. "Honestly."

"Ridiculous. You have more to learn than I thought." Austria sighed, glancing around for his maroon snow boots and spotting them at the foot of the bed.

America shrugged, apathetic. "Duh, that's why I'm here." He gradually trailed off when he noticed Austria stoop down, taking hold of the tops of his laced boots. He hadn't yet styled his hair in the usual polished technique, giving him a mysterious yet messy, wind whipped atmosphere. America was stunned to find himself rather let down when Austria sat, expertly laced up his boots, and immediately slicked his hair with his fingers. If only he would wear his hair down more often; it provided a nice edgy contrast to his round face and deep eye color. He felt his throat catch and his heart skip a beat when Austria's gaze snapped back up, frowning and unenthused as he noticed America's rigid, yet vacant, gawk. America felt himself stiffen when he realized what he was doing, willing his mind to quit whatever convoluted display he had somehow pulled himself into, and trying to dispose of the probably idiotic smile that was pasted to his face.

Austria stood and crossed his hands in a poised display across the front of his cashmere coat, waiting for his new student to regain his senses. "You shoes." He pointed to the floor and pursed his lips.

America nearly gasped and blinked a few times. He had almost forgotten about his sneakers, bending and fumbling to pick them up as he tried to fight off the grin peaking on his face. "Sorry." He replied swiftly. He needed to stop this absurd thinking, though he very well couldn't put an end to it if he didn't know where it had come from in the first place, or what it was really about. There was no rationality to his thought, and it was thoroughly puzzling. He had never been interested by Austria in any respects before, so why the hell now? He wasn't even sure what it was that kept bringing his attention back. America was almost always blissfully unaware of what was going on, but now he wished he understood, or this was going to be a dreadfully long two weeks.

"Thank you." Austria mouthed sarcastically, pushing past him and stopping in the doorway. "Don't forget a coat."

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><p><span><strong>Wiktor<strong>: Good God, that was long. I'm so sorry. I hope you enjoyed what I have written, and please review if you read. Danke.


	4. Crimson

**Wiktor:** Aw! You guys really know how to make such a jaded and staunch person as I blush. I truly appreciate everything that you all have done for me through your kind words. And to **Irmgard U**, of course I can translate this to German. If you have a FanFiction account, I can send you my e-mail address, translate each chapter, and send it to you if that is alright, unless you have other means of contact. To **LiquidFlowers5**, my name is Wiktor Essen, and is pronounced Vik-tor Uss-en. And to everyone else, thank you so much once again for your continued support. I really didn't expect anything on this piece, being new to fanfiction and all, but you all have definitely surprised me. For this, I hug each of you.

**Once again, I had to edit this due to all of my English mistakes. I think I found them all, mainly wrong words. If anyone finds anymore, feel free to tell me and I;ll fix it.

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><p>Austria watched as America laughed noisily, dashing up and kicking up a cloud of snow with his shoes, stopping to enjoy the rain of tiny crystals fluttering down like a snowfall. He coughed and shook them free from his shoulders, before repeating himself, taking care not to drop Austria's things. It hadn't taken long to retrieve the shopping; all the shop owners knew Austria extensively and prepared for his weekly arrival, often meeting him outside of the storefront. The tedious part of the trip was the mid morning rush, when the remaining workers scrambled to grab a hasty breakfast before holing themselves up in their offices for the rest of the day, crowding the sidewalks like lines to the theatre as they pushed and squeezed around each other.<p>

"Hey," America called back, a bag on each arm, "do you wanna have a snowball fight?" He reached down and scooped up a handful of snow, forming it into a misshapen ball.

How inconvenient; not even the bitter cold could silence America. He was a country and political figure head, _not_ a child, and the never ending questions and prompts were definitely exhausting. Of course, Austria's age in human years wasn't all that mature either, at a young twenty-two, but his life experience far outweighed that of America's birth by many generations, raising his expectations for everyone else even higher. He knew that America was still considered fairly inexperienced, but he should have enough under his belt to at least put on a proper suit, instead of that dreadful vivid cherry coat of his.

"No, thank you." Austria stated firmly but smoothly, not wanting to upset his assistant.

America wasn't disappointed and, to little surprise, only became more determined to reach his goal at the reply. "Come on," he snickered, cocking his arm back to throw, "If I fire first, you have to go to war with me! That's non-negotiable!" He kidded flippantly.

Austria looked back, careful to avoid the thin sheet of ice that had coated the warn concrete of the sidewalk. "On what terms are I obligated to go to war?" He pushed, hoping the question would make America think and, with any luck, back off.

America rolled his eyes playfully. "Um, duh! NATO terms!" He pushed back, flashing an 'I-outsmarted-you' grin.

Austria fought back the urge to smile at the nonsensical retort. America had little concept of how the world and international law truly worked. He wasn't ignorant, he just didn't think before he spoke, and was as far from articulate as he could possibly be.

"You mean a NATO country," He pointed to America, "is going to attack a neutral country that has little NATO affiliation?" He said, playing along a bit. If it would eventually force America to be quiet, he might as well. "Is that not a bit cruel?"

America's smile faded when he realized the fault of his actions. "Oh, crap! That would be bad wouldn't it?" He paused in thought then gained an idea, a warm beam once again peaking on his lively expression. "Then just stop being neutral for a minute so I can hit you!"

"My neutrality is permanently enforced." Austria countered unwavering, continuing his leisure walk.

America wasn't ready to give up yet and bounded after him, nearly slipping in the trampled slush. "Oh, yeah?" he mused blithely. "By who?"

"Myself and my government."

"That's not good enough! I still wanna have a snowball fight no matter what."

"What do you mean that is not good enough? It is a perfectly legitimate reason!"

America toyed with the snow in his palm, reshaping it and rolling it between his fingers as it began to melt. "You don't have to get all flustered about it. We can walk back," He offered, stepping to the side to allow a family of four to move around him, "I won't try anything, honest."

Finally, it was about time. Austria turned and took a deep breath, coughing a bit in the cold. The city smelled different than usual; it was musty and stuffy feeling, almost congested with the hefty strain of unwanted holiday burden. Austria could feel the telltale ache of economic slippage; that dull, uncomfortable twinge in the heart of his chest that always made itself known around this time of year. It didn't hurt much, but it was more than distracting. He couldn't wait for the holidays to be over and for things to finally settle once more.

"Hey, Austria! Think fast!"

Austria didn't even have time to react to America's voice, when he felt something freezing collide hard with the back of his neck. He yelped and scrambled to shake the horrendously glacial snow from his collar but winced when he felt the cold liquid slide down his back.

From behind him, America lost it. "Dude, your reflexes are so _slow_! I freakin' warned you and everything!" He laughed, running his hands through his hair and clutching at his stomach, gasping between chuckles.

Austria couldn't move. He could feel several of his citizens stop to stare from shop windows and from across the street, whispering to themselves as they glared at the tall foreign man harassing their country. He felt his face grow warm as he stared down at his shoes, running through what to say, but not finding any words. He swallowed and pulled himself together, reminding himself that this was _his_ home and _his_ country; America had no authority here and certainly no authority over him. Austria couldn't let this sweep his nerves into a fluster. He had to stand tall, professionally, and maintain his air of nobility for the sake of those watching.

America put a hand on Austria's shoulder and examined his coat, tugging a bit at the dark fabric with his fingers. "Damn, sorry about your coat. I didn't think it would soak through that much." He pointed out, still stuck deep in his ever growing mirth.

Austria's gaze snapped up and he scrutinized America's youthful face. He couldn't let him do this to him; not in front of his own citizens and definitely not in his own capitol. Austria had to end this childlike senselessness before it became too much to handle.

"You have no authority over me, you fool!" He repeated out loud careful to comb his tone for any sign of weakness. "That kind of behavior here is unacceptable! I do not want you doing this to me again. Do you understand?"

America forced his gaze to the ground, finally aware that he had crossed a line. He shuffled his feet awkwardly, brushing the melted snow from his hand onto his jeans before looking back up with forged innocence.

"Then you owe me a snowball fight later." He mumbled, trying to make light of the situation.

Austria exhaled and blinked, feeling a fraction of his annoyance flutter away, but masking it with a frown. He couldn't let America think he had won him over with a fake display of purity. For some reason, America's virtuousness reminded him of Europe's golden days. Austria had owned many territories during those years, as the world had long since seemed to have forgotten, much to his shame. But a few he truly did miss, no matter how difficult they had been to raise. He remembered them as tiny and self-doubting, with no clue to whom they were or what they were to be forced to accomplish no matter their opinion, but with an outlook on the world that would astonish even the holiest of saints. However, as they grew and molded their own directions and formulated their own customs, they became more and more corruptible, turning themselves into hollow shells to be ripped apart and stepped on by the force of war and treason. But, for some reason Austria couldn't determine, America had kept that level of incorruptibility they were all born with. Maybe he was just skilled in hiding his fears and scars, but, as much as Austria hated to admit, he did have a revitalizing air to him. He truly was genuinely innocent. Of course, he was exasperating, but it wasn't anything Austria hadn't dealt with before with the numerous children thrust upon him by the former royal house and political advisers to care for. Not to mention the other immature countries he had been forced to associate with. And the world wondered why he had grown to be as bitter as he was today.

"I'm gonna hold you to that, okay?" America beamed, falling in step with Austria and kicking the snow from the bottom of his shoes. "I'm totally gonna get you in the snow eventually." He re-positioned the bags on his arms to where he could rub his hands together, desperate for heat. "The only bad thing is that it's so damn cold!" He shivered a bit. "I wish I still had my gloves. Too bad I wore them out a while back."

"Do _not_ complain to me about being cold." Austria reached back and shook out his coat, eyeing America from behind his glasses.

America shrugged lightly. "I said I was sorry. I really didn't mean to do that." He paused. "You could have hit me back with one as revenge." He bargained. "I'll even stand still to make it easy for you."

Austria shook his head. "I'd rather not." He replied straightforwardly. America needed to realize that he had an image to uphold, and he couldn't maintain it participating in children's games.

"Oh, right," America mocked teasingly, nudging Austria lightly in the shoulder, "you're 'neutral.' You're not allowed to fight me."

"There really is no hope for people like you."

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><p>America was overjoyed when the pair had finally reached the manor. Austria had taken his time trudging through the snow, but had moved far too slow for America's liking. He felt chilled to the bone when he burst through the doors, rubbing at his arms through the puffy sleeves of his coat. Austria, on the other hand, looked virtually unaffected by Jack Frost's harsh bite. America knew he had to be just as frozen, after having been smacked with a handful of snow, but he once again hid it like an expert. IT made America wonder if he was consciously hiding anything else under a shroud as well constructed as that. It definitely wouldn't surprise him.<p>

Burkhart greeted the two at the door, helping Austria out of his coat and neglecting to aid America, merely taking his bags with a snort and moving off in a characteristic huff. Johanna, the maid from the previous night, had made her appearance known, smiling as she moved delicately forward on light toes. America smiled at her and she quickly returned it, turning to Austria and whispering a breathy something in German that America couldn't quite catch.

Austria nodded unhurriedly. "Ah. Please," He began, "follow us. We will begin your lessons shortly."

It was about time! However, America had been hoping to grab a bite to eat before beginning. His hunger had been growing for the past few hours, but this was fine too. He didn't expect this to last for very long, as Austria probably had piles of paperwork to continue later, and America could probably pester Burkhart to allow him into the kitchen in the allotted time afterwards; he seemed like the kind of person who would give up with enough persistence.

America followed in silence, watching Johanna's skirt flutter a bit behind her as she walked, the contents of her apron pockets catching his eye. What she was carrying wasn't atypical, but the surprising amount of various pill bottles and medications with her was bewildering. As a maid, he expected her to be in better health than that but, hey, who was he to judge? He peered around her to her other side pocket. She had stuffed it full with an unopened water bottle and several tissues, most likely used for cleaning. Johanna cleared her throat and snapped, regaining America's attention as she stopped, reached out, and pushed the door to the music room open with a palm. America allowed Austria to enter first out of respect before following. It was strange to see the room so empty; every time America had observed it, it had been packed with various formal attendees. Now, it was dormant and spacious but unexpectedly inviting. America heard the door behind him close and he turned slightly, surprised to see that Johanna was still following closely behind the two.

"Is she going to be with us every day or something?" America asked Austria.

Austria exchanged a fleeting glance with Johanna, who's expression had gone cold. "Yes. I hope that isn't a problem?" He brushed the bench to his piano clean with his fingers before sitting and motioning America over.

America hesitated and swallowed, positioning himself next to his teacher. He was uncomfortably close. "No, I don't mind. I just didn't think she would be following us around like this." He admitted. Having Johanna's gaze on him at all times was unnerving. Sure, she didn't know English, but she could most definitely read his body language with impeccable skill, leading America to believe that she was constantly criticizing him in her head. "So, how does this work?" He asked, changing the subject and leaning over the piano when Austria lifted the cover.

Austria frowned at the question. "Do you not know how a piano works?"

"No, I do, I just meant what am I learning first?" America reached forward to press a key, when Austria stopped him.

"There will be no playing yet." He instructed, much to America's irritation. "You must build music literacy first."

America cocked his head, completely lost. What the hell did that mean? Seeing his expression, Austria reached forward and took hold of a thin manila folder, pulling it open and sifting through an array of sheets that America couldn't read. He what sheet music looked like, but it was like a different language, all of those dots on lines. And they all looked different to make matters worse, accented with various symbols and dashes. Finally, Austria pulled a suitable piece, handing it over to America.

"This is the exercise that I will use to teach you rhythm and note structure." Austria adjusted his glasses on the bridge of his nose and leaned over, pointing to the first set of lines. "Each one of these symbols here," he explained, gesturing to each of the notes, "make a different sound."

America blinked and scrunched up his face. That didn't make any sense. They were all black dots with tails; how were they distinguished from one another? He paused, embarrassed that he didn't understand, before asking his question.

"All of them look the same, though." He mumbled.

Austria gave a small smile of amusement. "These five lines tell you what sound it will be, not the note."

America glanced up, still not grasping the concept, but was able to breathe a bit easier when Austria held up a hand.

"Do not worry. If children can understand, you will too. It takes time."

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><p>For the next couple of hours, America had never been more bored out of his mind. In learning how to read sheet music, he had expected it to be far easier than this unexpected garble of musical jargon. He was almost sure that he was never going to be able to retain any of this. Still, Austria reiterated himself often and spoke clearly, working slowly through the process. He was astoundingly patient, stopping periodically to listen to America's troubles and resolving them quickly as they went along, allowing America to relax.<p>

When America thought he had somewhat understood the process of time in relation to beats per minute, he stretched, impressed with his progress, no matter how little he had actually achieved. "You know, this is worse than I thought," he chuckled, "but I guess I can't back out now."

Austria shrugged at the comment. "It isn't that bad if you listen and practice." He restated, alluding to the possibility of America being assigned homework. "Now, tell me-"

America looked up when Austria coughed softly into the back of his hand, cutting him off in mid sentence. He blinked several times and sniffed, taking a deep shaky breath. America leaned forward and narrowed his eyes, watching Austria's movements closely; something was off. Austria appeared to be fighting himself, trying to remain upright as his eyelids fluttered a bit.

"Austria?" He reached up to move his hand for his face, taking him by the wrist. "You ok?"

Austria shied back, coughing again, and batted America's hand away when the color drained from his face, leaving him a deathly shade of white. He hastily pulled off his glasses, tossing them aside on the ivory keys of the piano and pressed his fingers firmly to his nose before taking a sharp, painful breath. From behind them, Johanna gasped and rushed forward, stooping in front of her master and placing her hands tenderly on his knees.

"Herr Edelstein?" She asked urgently. When Austria didn't answer, she jumped up from the floor and turned rapidly, calling out to the other room for Burkhart, who swiftly answered, throwing the door open and moving stridently to meet her. America tried to say something, but was pushed back when Burkhart's firm hand connected with his chest, driving him to the side. America stumbled backwards but remained out of the way, unsure what exactly was happening, but knowing in the back of his mind that it wasn't good. He swallowed when he noticed Johanna fumbling through her pockets, rattling through her many medication bottles and talking rapidly with Burkhart who pulled Austria's hands tenderly from his face. America froze, feeling his stomach drop at the realization of what was going on. Austria's face and hands were stained bright crimson with the tint of fresh blood. America squeezed his eyes shut and turned, not able to handle the sight. How could he have not known that Austria was ill?

He looked back as Burkhart handed Austria his medication and uncapped the bottle of water, watching him closely to ensure that he took it before gradually standing him up to leave.

America took a step forward. "Oh my God, do you need help?" He asked frantically.

Burkhart shook his head and jabbed a finger at him, careful to support his master's side. "Stay here! I will come for you in a moment." He motioned for Johanna, who took Austria by the other arm, talking him down as they left.

America stood in silence, dumbfounded by the sudden escalation of unexpected misfortune. Austria had seemed just fine a moment ago! He hadn't seen a country in such a state for years, but immediately recognized the signs. He swallowed and moved to sit, glancing down at Austria's glasses before taking them gingerly in his fingers. There were only a few things that could cause this in a country; poor eating habits, stress, and the treat of political treason and national crime. However, he wasn't sure which one had Austria in such a sorry position. It couldn't be his eating habits, as he was a food fanatic. Stress could most definitely be the culprit, what with all the seas of paperwork America had observed on Austria's desk. Suddenly, a pang of insight shot through America's stomach. How could he neglect such a detail? The previous night, before he had left, Austria had slumped over his paperwork to sort out financial trouble, it looked like. America shook his head. Could Austria be participating in…financial fraud? It wouldn't be the first time a country had resorted to such means. He knew times were hard for everyone, but were they really so bad that Austria would have to resort to an atrocity as this? If so, what sort of scandal had he unearthed? It couldn't be white collar, could it? It was hard to believe, but America couldn't shake the thought; it was all too plausible. He took a shaky breath, terrified of what he may have stumbled upon, but feeling an eerie excitement flood over him at the thought of pursuing such a mystery. He very well couldn't just turn a blind eye, not when this was tearing Austria apart. America nodded to himself and gently stuffed Austria's glasses in the pocket of his shirt, trying not to pinpoint the problem without information. This was no longer just about piano lessons; he was determined to find out just what sort of secret Austria was keeping.

A few minutes passed before Burkhart rapped on the door, slipping silently through alone. America stood at his presence, desperate to know if Austria was alright.  
>Burkhart cleared his throat and brought his hands together in a tiny clap. "Master wishes to inform you that he is deeply sorry for the inconvenience. Your lessons will resume tomorrow, but now I have put him on bed rest."<p>

America blinked. "Is he ok?" He wasn't sure where this sense of fear had come from, but it was turning his thoughts in circles.

"Yes, this happens more often than you would think." Burkhart mumbled, disheartened. "All of us who work in the household pressure him to see a regular physician, but Master always refuses. None of us are truly sure why he is ill, but he has been this way for years now." He informed sadly.

"Oh…" America breathed, his suspicions piling up. Not seeing a physician was a telltale sign of collapse. He knew, because he had been through such a terrible pressure during the Watergate scandal. It had made him severely anemic and forced him to bed for weeks before he made a unsteady recovery. "Thank you for telling me."

Burkhart swallowed thickly and looked down. "Yes, well," he searched for words. "I shall fix you a hearty brunch." He said quickly, masking his troubled thoughts.

America refused to respond waiting until Burkhart had left. He was going to find out what dark secret Austria was holding back, for the sake of not only his public, but of his own mental health. And by the looks of it, it wasn't going to be an easy task. Burkhart was obviously just as confused and taken aback as America, so gaining information would be no small feat. No! That wouldn't hold America back. He was looked upon as a savior! And, by the look of it, Austria was in desperate need of a hero, no matter who it may be, and America was now determined to be just that.

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><p><strong><span>Wiktor:<span>** Sorry I took so long to update. I had finals at University, but I still found time to write this. I hope you enjoy, and happy holidays!


	5. Feuer und Leder

**Wiktor**: Hallo, friends. I trust that all of you have had a nice holiday? _**I am very sorry**_ it has taken me so long to write this chapter. I broke my right hand and arm skiing, so it's sort of hard to write now. I am doing my best, honest! Sorry again, friends. Because I was gone so long, this chapter will be twice as long. I hope you like it.

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><p><strong>To my readers:<strong> I am going to continue writing this story consistently, but I am also going to be taking two more requests at the same time. I received an e-mail from a former fanfiction writer who wishes me to write some things for her favorite pairing, Russia/Spain. It _is_ a strange one, but I felt like it could be really fluffy and adorable if done correctly. I have never thought of shipping it at all, but I will be taking this request purely for creative interest. The only reason I am telling you all, is because I wanted to reassure you that I will continue to write this current fic at the same pace that I have been. I promise my attention will not slack on this one. I will also be doing a series of crack one shots for various pairings that are requested of me. I have nine pending so far.

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><p>America plowed his shovel into the snow bank, chucking another heap behind him while he whistled. Over the duration of the past week, he hadn't learned anything new about Austria. In other words, he was getting nowhere fast with his idea of playing hero. It was harder than expected; Austria taught him what was needed and then disappeared for the rest of the afternoon. There was no chance for any form of interaction or talking and America was beginning to realize how much he really didn't know about Austria...And how much his intriguing mystery was driving America to want to know a little bit more. Not that he had to. This was all for<em> political<em> curiosity after all and just _political_ curiosity. America wasn't sure where he retreated off to but, as far as he could guess, it had to do with this whole financial crisis theory of his; secret dealings through the phone and the like. America knew this sort of game, unfortunately he was all too experienced. Still, Austria gave him no evidence of any financial turmoil whatsoever. He was definitely well off, in a wonderful home with exquisitely trained staff, beautifully tailored clothing, and an abundance of expensive artifacts lining his corridors.

America frowned and spat into the snow, clearing away a large chunk of ice from the courtyard path and pushing it meticulously to the side. His leads were going fast, but one thing that Burkhart had told him a few days ago resonated like a bell through his thoughts.

_I have known my Master for years. I have lived here for my whole career with my wife, Johanna. And yet, he does not give me answers, even when I ask._ _Does he not trust me?_

The statement and eerie question had come up in casual conversation, and was the only thing America had left to play off of. He had come to the shaky conclusion that though Burkhart and Johanna had lived with Austria for many years, Austria still didn't have the level of trust with them to reveal any deep secrets, obviously. The two were only human, so why not tell them? They would die eventually and carry whatever it was with them to the grave. Nah, that wasn't it. Austria was sharper than America had once thought he was, and wouldn't be dumb enough to confide in a human. Humans were far too anxious to share information; they would probably go to the papers for even the slightest sum and a scandal would erupt. Whole administrations had crumbled in the past because of the inability of humans to keep their mouths shut for countries. But, countries were a bit different. They knew how to keep secrets, or at least some where capable of the task, due to their having to retain so much information over hundreds of years. And this brought America to his only, and extremely pathetic, idea. He would have a week to become the best person in Austria's life. He would go as far as to say he would have to become his best friend. If he could get close enough, maybe he could help. But the task seemed absolutely impossible. There was no way that in nine days he could accomplish such a feat, and he had no idea how to relate to Austria. He was different than the others he knew in a way he could not understand. America ran his hands through his hair and stood straight, admiring the job he had done on the courtyard clearing the snow. Maybe Austria would be interested in knowing more about him too…That would make things easier. But why would Austria want to associate with someone like America? They were both high class and lived lavish lives, but America was far from elegant. Man, this was a little nerve wracking.

America turned back to the house and noticed Burkhart watching him awkwardly through the window, still in his dark blue nightshirt. America beamed through his tension and the morning air, waving and earning a sneer of distain from the valet.

America noticed but didn't care. Instead he cupped his hands around his mouth. "Morning!" He called across the yard, causing several of the maid's quarters upstairs to light up as angry women appeared in the frosty windowpanes, whispering crossly in a sleepy fashion amongst themselves. Burkhart threw his hands in the air and yelled something back from the house, throwing the window open and scowling impatiently in response.

"Master Alfred, what on earth are you doing?!" He barked from the pane. "Why are you shoveling?"

"I thought that Austria and I could take a walk this morning and I don't like getting snow in my shoes!" America yelled back, still grinning, and pointing to his shoes. "Do me a favor and get him up?"

Burkhart shook his head and crossed his arms. "I am afraid I cannot do that." He replied in a matter of fact tone.

America wasn't ready to accept defeat. He planted his shovel into the snow, casually leaning against it and stumbling a bit when it couldn't support his weight. "Come on," He began covertly, "Just tell him that there's a fire or something. That always works for me when I wanna wake people up at world meetings!"

Burkhart was dumbfounded by America's superciliousness. "Why on earth would I do that? I would never lie to my master about something as serious as a fire! This isn't funny; it is a hazard!"

Well, it couldn't be helped then; America would have to take things into his own two hands and do what he was best at. He cupped his hands around his mouth, looking back to Burkhart with a childish smile. This was his final chance.

"Don't you dare do it!" Burkhart growled forebodingly, gripping at the edge of the window and leaning outside. "Don't do it!" He warned again, as if something horrendous would happen to America if he spoke.

"Too late!" America laughed cockily, taking a deep breath and letting out what he thought was a moderately convincing cry of panic. "Holy shit! There's a fire!" He called as loud as his voice would carry. Almost immediately, the maids watching from the upstairs windows scrambled and flew over one another in a cloud of coats and long silky night wear, screaming frantically through the halls. America tried to hold his wits together when Burkhart nearly leaped through the window, chasing him down through the courtyard and kicking up a rather hectic cloud of snow in his rage. America couldn't keep from laughing aloud when he turned and ran, slipping in the snow when Burkhart's palm collided hard with his jaw line.

America had to admit it; that one stung. He yelped sharply and grabbed a handful of snow, pressing it to his face as he hissed in pain. "God dammit, dude, what the hell is wrong with you?!" He whined, cradling his face in his hands. "That hurt!"

"What is wrong with _me_? The manor is in an uproar because of your foolish actions! You are lucky that I don't call the authorities on a lie like this!" Burkhart scolded furiously, nearly chomping at the bit to hit America once again, this time in hopes of breaking bone. He grabbed him from the collar and pulled him from the snow, dragging him up from the ground and forcing America to look him in the eye. "What do you want from us?! You have been nothing but trouble here! Do you want to make our holiday a misery?"

America pushed off of Burkhart's shoulders, careful to remain conscious of his strength, breaking free from his seething grip on his jacket. "Well at least I'm _trying_ to figure out what the hell is wrong with Austria, and it looks like I'm the only one who is! I need to talk to him alone and he never gives me a chance, so this was the only way I could drag him out here!" America countered back, adding legitimacy to his ridiculously rash decision. "He's obviously never gonna tell you anything and he leaves after our lessons, so I'm gonna have to force him to get to know me. What else am I supposed to do?"

Burkhart brought his fingers to the bridge of his nose in a mixture of puzzlement and discontent. "There were other ways that you could have gone about this." He mumbled, calming down a little and pulling his glasses from his pocket before setting them in their rightful place upon his nose. "Forgive me for striking you, but you deserved that, acting like a deranged teenager!"

America shrugged in understanding though slightly hurt. Burkhart looked at him like everyone else. "Yeah, I usually do deserve it, I guess. Sorry I yelled." He still couldn't believe that Burkhart had gathered the gusto to hit him, however. It was almost respectable, that much courage. It showed he wasn't all that much of a pansy, and America liked that a little, no matter how much it had made his face throb.

"It is fine. Please," He held up a hand, desperate for answers and finally realizing America's motives in a more secure way, "now that you have caused all of this chaos, at least don't let it go to waste."

America gave him a small half smile and drew his hand away from his face, skin now numb with the cold. "No promises, but I can try."

"Feuer?! Ruf die Polizei! (Fire?! Call the police!)" Austria instructed frantically, stumbling outside with several half dressed workers. He turned and quickly and scanned the outside of the building for any sign of growing flames, frowning and turning to America when he saw none. "Ich verstehe nicht. Wo ist Johanna? (I don't understand. Where is Johanna?)"

Johanna pushed her way around a few of the girls and threw herself into Burkhart's arms, scrutinizing him and making sure he wasn't hurt and willing herself to calm from what appeared to be a heavy panic attack. America swallowed thickly and shoved his hands deep in his pockets, wincing. He was beginning to feel sort of bad at this point, scaring everyone like he did. It was effective like he had wanted, but the negative reaction far outweighed his expectation for what was to come. He didn't think everyone would go to pieces as bad as they had.

"What's happened?" Austria demanded, confused.

America rubbed at the back of his collar. "Yeah, erm," He began gradually, trying to ease Austria into the situation as calmly as he could, "there sorta isn't a fire."

Austria blinked and crossed his arms, shivering in the cold. "What do you mean there is no fire?" He replied in disorientation. "Why would you tell us there is one when there isn't?"

America cleared his throat. "I just wanted to get you outside for a little while," he muttered under his breath. "I wanted to talk to you, but I knew you wouldn't get up." He tried to laugh the catastrophe off as furious workers began to grumble to him in German, retreating back into the house in a collective huff. "So I decided to make a fake fire! Funny right?" He chuckled again, but Austria was far from amused.

"Do you think this is funny?" He spat in frustration. "That is it. Get out of my house!" He demanded. "I want you out of my country!"

America moved forward, not afraid of Austria's display of antagonism. "Come on, Austria, don't be that way. Think about it, would you have gotten up if I asked you to?"

"Don't turn this around on me."

"Would you, though?"

"…No."

America gave him a soft, sociable smile. "Then this worked! No one got hurt, so I don't know why you're so pissed off about this."

Austria felt his jaw tighten. America needed to be punished. He drew a sharp breath and raised a hand to lash out, stopping when he noticed the finger marks already burned into the side of America's face. Someone had already hit him. America flinched, preparing for another blow to the jaw, but blinked in surprise when Austria let his hand fall to his side.

"You are hopeless." He mumbled, turning to go back inside. He couldn't bring himself to leave a second mark on America's face.

"Wait, I need to talk to you about some stuff." America said hurriedly. "Sorry I caused this whole mess, I just wanted to…" He trailed off, unsure of how to start. He couldn't rush this; Austria would suspect something and America would never find out what was going on.

"Wanted to what?" Austria huffed, spinning back around.

"To get to know you better." America decided on saying. It wasn't too overbearing, and was unclear enough to throw Austria off of any trail he may have caught wind of.

Austria was taken aback and, frankly, a little bit stunned. A modern, brisk country like America had taken interest in a leisurely, lackluster country like him? How eccentric. Young people hardly took any interest in him anymore, or went through such exaggerated methods to converse with him. "What more could you possibly want with me?"

America shrugged with a beam. "I don't know anything about you. I'm staying at your house, so I figured we could learn some more about one another to make it less awkward between us."

America made a valid contention. Austria honestly knew very little about America as well, if not less than America knew about him. Still, he hadn't been shown any intrigue in many a year, and wasn't sure how to start.

"I cleared the snow off of the path so we could walk together," America said enthusiastically, trying his best to keep Austria's undivided attention.

This was far too awkward for Austria's liking. How long had America been outside shoveling? This sort of specialized attention was nice, but it was better to not get involved with other countries like America. He made too much light of things, and it was unbelievably irritating how overly confident and free he was with his words. But that confidence also gave him spirit, and Austria was beginning to admire his incredible persistence. America really was unlike anyone he had met; he was surprisingly compassionate but unbelievably idiotic, with a fascinating inability to read the mood and non-verbals of others and a powerful sense of justice…just not of social norms and formalities.

"It is too cold for such things." Austria lied, turning his back to America once more.

"I can fix that! I always know what to do." America giggled, contentment finally revitalized, before reaching up and tugging off his jacket. He flew forward and tackled Austria in a mass of faded leather and wool like a dog jumping at its master's feet, pulling him around and laughing a bit when he noticed his shoulders go rigid when he attempted to silently move away.

"What are you doing? Stop touching me." Austria stammered at his loss of control and became uncomfortable at the unnatural amount of open affection America was granting him, leaning backwards when America reached down and kindheartedly zipped up the front of his jacket in one deliberate, smooth flounce. America glanced back up, smile fading a bit and causing Austria to frown. America was staring fixedly at him once more from behind his glasses with a seemingly blank look and appeared to be gradually sinking into thought, though what about evaded his knowledge. It was as if his expression had stuck; glued to his eyes. Austria swallowed and took a tiny step backwards when America inched forward inquiringly, watching every minute move he made in an effort to read his atypical and unforeseen aim, but was unable to perceive any emotion from his seemingly empty expression. Austria took a small breath when America locked eyes with him, breaking it for a few moments to admire the way his jacket fit him before effortlessly returning.

America's jaw had gone slack. He opened his mouth to try and form something at least articulate, but couldn't find his bearings, only adding additional weight to the incongruity of the substantial silence. He scrunched up his face but couldn't break his gaze no matter how he tried, as if afraid he would miss something if he looked away. At that moment, he could almost feel something break inside his chest as he sluggishly began to drag himself out of his profound pool of denial. No matter how much he had told himself to discount such omnipresent thoughts, America couldn't push them any further. They always came bouncing back, each time with increasing dynamism and will to pester his conscious, and he was finally beginning to understand, though he didn't like what this meant one bit. Austria was attractive. At least, a little. He was slim and insipid, and the bulky leather of America's jacket all but swallowed him, lending him an air of petite cuteness. America felt a feeble smile take him over as he willed himself to breathe regularly again. It definitely didn't look bad on him, it was far from it.

"Wow." America felt himself blurt out in a breathy mumble, internally smacking himself when he realized what he had said. Out of all of the things he could have said, why did it have to be that? For once in his life could the universe not let him be smooth?

"Are you alright? What's wrong with you?" Austria inquired suspiciously.

America shook himself free and sneezed in the sub-zero wind, reaching up and rubbing at the thin sleeves of his shirt for warmth. "Sorry! Yeah, I-I'm great!" He paused and gestured to the footpath behind him and leisurely starting his walk, motioning for Austria to follow. "Come on, humor me, will you?" He shuddered but refused to give up his ardor, ignoring the knife like cold in hopes of impressing Austria with his durability.

Austria sighed, still wondering what had happened, but glad it had been cleared up; America never gave him any choice or say in what happened when he was around. He was standing outside in the freezing cold in his night clothes and snow boots, for God's sake, swallowed by a jacket he had never asked to adorn. It was most likely dry clean only, and there was not telling how many decades it had been since America had made an attempt at visiting the cleaners. So much was being forced on him so rapidly, he had no time to mull anything over and come up with a level headed pronouncement. Of course, he didn't have much to lose at this point either, not after such a catastrophe as dragging the whole manor to the courtyard. However, that did not mean Austria condoned this in the slightest.

America reached out and grabbed Austria by the sleeve, tugging him along and forcing him to leave behind his gawky inhibitions, slowing to an adequate walking speed. "So," he mused, finally able to begin but trying to figure out where to start, "Why don't we start with names or something? I don't remember yours." He felt dense for forgetting, but it wasn't often that America heard Austria addressed by his first name.

Austria looked away, keeping his mouth shut in his reluctance to answer. America leaned down a little and flashed an undersized smile, examining Austria's face but not picking up on his goaded fog. "I'm Alfred." He placed his hands on his hips and puffed out his chest in satisfaction as if his name were a shiny trophy. "Alfred Foster Jones! Now," He held out a hand, prompting immaturely for Austria to reply.

"Don't treat me like I am a child," Austria muttered before pausing, ever so slowly reacclimating to America's boisterous qualities. "My name is Roderich."

America stifled a laugh and sniffed. "Really? You don't look like a Roderich."

"And _you_ don't look like an Alfred." Austria countered nattily, catching America off guard by breaking his typical composure.

America allowed himself to finally unwind and couldn't help himself, lightheartedly laughing at the cynical quality to Austria's voice. "Ok, well," He stepped over a mound of snow he had neglected, rubbing at his icy fingers. "What do you do for fun?"

Austria thought a moment, crossing his arms as best he could and trailing off in thought, glancing across the courtyard and into the extensive green of the park beyond. Everything he found appealing and intriguing bored the others he knew to the point where they scarcely came around anymore, with the exception of Germany, Hungary and sometimes Switzerland, who were only interested in him for his political prospect, which wasn't much nowadays. America already knew that he indulged in the finer things; art, music, and the like. Austria blinked to himself as he thought, remembering something that not many knew, because he seldom shared it. It never came up in conversation, but now that someone was listening, it only seemed appropriate to bring it up.

"I collect things." He finally settled on, sort of hoping that America would press him to provide more details. "I don't much anymore, but I used to."

Sure enough, Austria was right. America perked up a little bit and adjusted his glasses. "What kind of stuff?"

Austria had to admit, he was beginning to draw a considerable level of fulfillment from America's many questions, no matter how many he had. "I have many things, but my weapons collection is the most extensive. Most of my pieces were gifts from excavation sites." He boasted, nearly retreating from the comment when he heard his tone waver in enthusiasm.

"Dude, that's wicked sweet!" America chimed up stridently, eyes lighting up. "I used to go on digs all the time in the sixties and seventies." He exhaled, amused when his breath condensed in the air. "I found all sorts of stuff, too. My favorite place was Egypt; super quiet guy but, damn, we found so much junk over there."

Austria nodded leisurely. He had never known that America enjoyed Archaeology, but the more he thought about it, the more it made complete sense. Digging was dirty work and it was only natural for someone so loosely strung to enjoy such labor.

America continued his energetic rant, rattling off everything that he found and where he found it, motioning with his hands in a visual display of the world and attempting to map everything out as he went along, occasionally pointing here and there to the invisible globe he was visualizing in his vibrant imagination.

"One time, I could have sworn I found a bone from a human finger!" He pointed to his own in demonstration. "I showed it our boss at the time and he totally thought it was too. Man, I thought we had found something amazing, so we started digging for the rest of the body, but it turns out it was part of a stupid ass sheep." He shook his head at the memory and gave himself a half smile. "Everyone was so upset, but it was still a lot of fun seeing everyone that excited and working together before the let down." He stopped talking and turned his attention back to Austria, who had all the while listened respectfully, getting back on topic. "I seriously never knew that you collected the things we find. I'll bet you have some of our stuff! Next time I'm able to go on a dig, you should come with us." He offered.

Austria looked down and smiled a little to himself. "No, I would not do well on a trip like that." He admitted.

Suddenly, the same ghostly feeling that had flooded over him his first day in the manor began to creep back over America's psyche. Austria rarely smiled, claiming that it wasn't needed to lead a fulfilling life, but when he did America could swear he felt warmer, as cheesy as it was. If only he would laugh. America reveled in the thought of gaining the privilege of hearing Austria laugh, but the concept of an apocalypse was more likely than that. Still, he couldn't help but wonder what he would sound like. America blinked when he noticed Austria quietly running his hands together. He must have left his gloves inside in all of the confusion.

"Here," America stopped in front of him and reached down, feeling the nervous tension leave him as he tenderly wrapped his fingers around Austria's. Austria instantly furrowed his brow and started to protest when America invaded his bubble, but America beat him to the conversation. He wasn't about to let Austria object; in his state he couldn't just let him ice over. He might get sick again.

America grinned and began to walk carefully backwards, guiding Austria along and all the while refusing to let go. "When I would go and visit Canada when we were younger, I would always forget my gloves because I never remembered how cold it was up north. We would play out in the snow and Canada would do this for me so I wouldn't get frostbite." He explained softly, nearly tripping.

"You're going to slip if you're not careful." Austria pointed out as he watched America's clumsy walk.

America gave a short laugh. "I'm not gonna fall! You gotta trust me." However, his klutzy walk didn't last long. Sure enough, as soon as Austria had warned him, America tripped over his own shoes, stumbling backwards and landing on his side in a hefty pile of snow. He coughed from the ground and quickly blew the snow from his nose, glancing up then swiftly looking away when he noticed Austria's somewhat pleased expression, discomfited. He thought rapidly; had to play this one off cool.

"Phew, that's much better." He began, stretching nonchalantly and slinging his arms behind his head though hesitant where he was going with this.

Austria raised an eyebrow. "You never listen. I knew that was going to happen, but you never listen." He watched America from the snow, overly satisfied with the fact that he had been correct.

America turned onto his back and rolled his eyes playfully. "Come on, I totally meant to do this. I was getting hot walking around so I wanted to cool off." Completely nailed it.

"You don't have to lie; being embarrassed is normal when you make a fool of yourself." Austria responded almost mischievously, crossing his arms once more and obviously not buying into America's pathetic excuse.

America chuckled and braced himself against the hard ground, readying himself for what was to come next. "Would you come off of it," he joked playfully, "you fucking aristocrat!" In a flash he flew forward and grabbed Austria by the front of the jacket, forcibly dragging him down to his level and landing him in the snow directly beside him. He wasn't about to be the only one shivering on the ground.

Austria immediately sat up, pouting when America rolled about in the snowbank giggling to himself. "Do you even realize how immature you are!? If you grew up in my time I would have your head!" He shouted apathetically. This was the second time that America had fooled him with the snow, and it was getting more than tiresome. It was time he learned a thing or two.

America grinned an inane grin, propping himself up on his knees and crawling to where Austria sat like a stone, wanting to move but too displeased with himself to do so. He glanced around a moment before spotting Austria's glasses, picking them from the snow and cleaning them on the back of his sleeve before leaning in and gingerly slipping them back behind Austria's ears. Austria shuddered under America's touch when he felt his fingertips graze his cheek as he pulled back, bopping him lightly on the nose with his forefinger.

"Loosen up and learn to have some fun every once in a while." America told him, standing and brushing himself off cheerfully. "It is Christmas after all." Suddenly, he shot a look of misunderstanding back in the direction of Austria's home before speedily turning back. "Dude, I totally forgot! I don't think you have a Christmas tree do you?" He extended a hand and took hold of Austria's, dragging him up from the ground.

"No," Austria responded, flicking the snow from his front. "The needles fall off onto the floor and it is dreadful to clean."

A look of exaggerated shock flooded over America's face when he gasped. "No Christmas tree? That's horrible! You can't have Christmas without a rockin' tree!" He thought a moment, his expression turning to that of impish astuteness. "We're gonna go get one. Right now."

"Please, I really don't need one." Austria reaffirmed his position. It was far too much trouble to have a living tree, and his maids hated the prospect of sticky sap coating everything.

"I'm not giving you a choice!" America stated in a matter of fact way.

With that, Austria knew there was no getting around it. America was going to find a tree weather he liked it or not and no amount of reason was going to change that. Slowly, the two made their way back across the extensive courtyard in silence, America every once in a while mumbling something inaudible to himself and chuckling under his breath like a school child. The silence was wonderful, but Austria almost wished that America had more things to talk about or ask him. He jumped a little when he felt America's hot grip somewhat tighten around his hand. Oh? He was still holding onto him? Not all that surprising. When he looked up, America seemed too preoccupied with another one of his flighty daydreams to notice, and had probably just forgotten to release him. Austria slowly pulled his other hand into the pocket of America's jacket, exhaling leisurely. America's strong fingers were cozy, so there was no point in letting go if he was gaining such benefit. In fact it was almost, dare he say, soothing. He looked down to his boots and watched America's quick stride compared to his. It was tiring; he had to take nearly two steps to match one of America's and his swift pace matched his reeling thoughts, almost dragging Austria along with him. As America hummed along innocently, Austria frowned when he felt him unhurriedly begin to stroke at his fingers with his thumb, repeatedly forming minute, gentle circles in his palm. This was a little out of the ordinary and oddly out of character, but still, America didn't seem to take any notice, looking about and blissfully admiring the geography instead. Why wasn't he paying attention? Surely he had to be aware of what he was doing. It was almost intentional; as though he wanted to confuse Austria, or send him some blurred indication of an unclear message. He felt his heart speed up at the thought, but willed his equanimity to return. Austria turned his nose up and couldn't believe he was thinking such things. What on earth had come over him? This was absurd! There was no telling what America would do or say when he was off in his own world, so nitpicking his actions like this was only going to produce false results. However, he couldn't help but be intrigued by how soft America's touch was. For someone with a reputation for forgetting his own strength he was surprisingly tender. Austria inhaled deeply in an attempt to clear his head, choosing to overlook what he was thinking and remove himself from what his conscious kept telling him to feel. He would just have to follow Alfred and get this over with; then maybe he would leave him be.

* * *

><p><span><strong>Wiktor<strong>: God, I finally got that done. My hand hurts now, but it was worth it. I have wanted to write this so bad. Hope you enjoyed, and have a good week. Until the next chapter!


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